The Malfoy Trilogy
by Ana Graves
Summary: Three short stories concerning the Malfoy family; different situations, generations and times, but all serving as missing scenes from "The Cursed Child". We all have hard decisions to make and consequences to face, but some of us are scarred for life because of it.
1. After a Dark Night

As said in the summary, here will await three one-shots, all Malfoy-related and having something to do with one wretched play I still have doubts whether to consider canon or not (yeah, I didn't like it). The anger after reading it resulted in a few so-called missing scenes from it, something I somehow needed to see. The characters are all behaving the way I see them; I always regarded Malfoys in a certain way, so I'm not really sure if it's really the way they are supposed to be seen. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

This one is set sometime after the main events of "The Cursed Child". The title comes from the short song "I'm Still Here" from _Rizzoli & Isles_. After a dark night, Draco needs to clarify some things.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_ \- all the characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"You knew."

There was a pause - silence hang in the heavy air, prolonging for so long it became highly uncomfortable, yet no one dared to break it.

"You knew he... she... they had a child and you kept silent for twenty-two years."

Another pause.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Draco..."

"Don't."

Draco breathed heavily, not even looking at his parents. Never before in his life had he felt such an enormous amount of disgust towards anyone. After all those years, when he had finally come to terms with who they all had been, but how they had changed, getting so far from their starting point, so far from their roots, after all of that came the revelation that shook his world once more. Possibly changing it forever.

Oh, how much he would have done to avoid some of such events. He definitely had had enough of them for a few lifetimes.

"What did you expect us to do?" Lucius' voice was calm and cold. He stared into Draco's eyes with intensity that would frighten most people, but younger Malfoy had been resistant to it for a long time. Maybe because the father he had once been afraid of, the one that haunted his dreams in his childhood, always ordering him to do better, to be the best, had vanquished quarter of century ago. They say Azkaban changes you forever and there wasn't a better example for it than Lucius Malfoy. The only "haunting" thing left were his eyes, darker and colder than ever, but undoubtedly revealing a broken man inside, broken beyond the point of any possible repair. That was why he had withdrawn from the public life and sheltered inside the family, inside those four walls where they all could be safe and sound. Or maybe, as Draco now thought, the withdrawal had something to do with the biggest secret anyone could ever hide. "Keep her here and raise her as our own? Tell the world that our niece is Voldemort's daughter? Or reveal it and still give her away, so the world could exact its own justice on her?"

"What..." Draco couldn't believe his own ears. "I didn't say you should raise her as your own. Although maybe you should, maybe..." he stuttered for a moment, looking for the right words, "...you could save her from what she became. But instead you just ran away from the responsibility, left her with whoever bid the lowest price and washed your hands, because it was no longer your problem, right?"

"Draco..."

"I'm not finished, mother!"

Narcissa was standing in the middle of the room, in the same distance from her son, who didn't step from the threshold, and from her husband, who was sitting in an armchair next to the fireplace. Her face bore a tormented expression, one that would make Draco's heart ache if the circumstances had been different.

"And most of all, you lied to me. You didn't tell me that my cousin..." He stopped, trying to gather his thoughts that were raging in the storm of fury. "You didn't even tell me I had a cousin!"

Draco had been there for them when they had needed him; he had helped them rebuild their life after the Second War; he had helped Lucius come to terms with the new reality and accept his past experiences, although his father had never asked for it; he had been a steady support for both of his parents when everyone around them had been an enemy. He had always been there for them. And yet, they had been lying to him for the last twenty-two years. That hurt much more than he could ever expect.

"It was for your own good." Narcissa's words came barely above a whisper - she felt terrible in every possible way. For her long-dead sister, for her imprisoned niece she could have saved from such a fate, for her son who will probably never forgive her for sheltering him from the truth.

"I'm so sick of that phrase," Draco snapped with such an anger it made Narcissa shudder. Her beloved son had never raised his voice at her, not once.

"Don't speak like that to your mother!" Lucius stood up and came to her, wrapping his arm protectively over her shoulder as to shelter her from their son's rage. Anger appeared in his grey irises.

"Look at you," Draco mocked, his face distorted into expression of fake-pity. "So loving, so protective of your own kind. Well, guess what, father - she was your own kind as well and you let her rot in some dark hole!"

Lucius looked at him with wonder for a little while, apparently trying to understand his motives.

"What are you really angry about, Draco?" The oldest Malfoy's voice came out completely steady this time, calm and quiet again. He let go of Narcissa and threaded towards Draco to come to a stop right in front of him. "That we lied to you and to the whole wizarding world? Or that we didn't save that... little lost creature, as you apparently consider her to be? That we... weren't heroes?"

Draco stared at his father wordlessly, a storm of thoughts rushing through his brain.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Lucius spoke silently, but there was something dire in his voice, something that reminded Draco of some long forgotten - or at least he had thought so - time. "Heroes. You wanted to be a hero, but you were born on the wrong side of the war. And when you thought you were finally on the righteous path something like this happens and crushes your dreams yet again... So sad."

Draco felt a quiver of anger shooting directly through his heart. He knew now what it was in his father's voice - cruelty. He hadn't heard it in a while. Maybe even never directed strictly and solely towards him.

"Lucius!" Narcissa seemed as shocked as he was.

"When your mother tells you we did something for your own good, you'd better believe that." Lucius didn't react, continuing his speech instead. "It wasn't your cross to bear, so we spared you that knowledge. You aspired to be better than us, to be different, so we gave you that chance. Do you think you would receive it if the world found out your closest living relative is Voldemort's spawn? Have you given it a single thought, what would happen to your own life if the world discovered the truth?"

The silence that fell rang in Draco's and Narcissa's ears. The words were cruel and harsh, but Draco realized, in spite of himself, that his father was right. He hadn't had much of a normal life with sheer suspicions that his son was Voldemort's child; it was hard to imagine what their life would have looked like if the world had known the real truth.

"You haven't, of course."

Draco's eyes fell onto the floor. Yet again he felt like that lonely kid, constantly scorned by his over-demanding father, never good enough, yet always sheltered from what could harm him. If that wasn't the definition of tough love he didn't know what was.

Narcissa moved quietly towards him, apparently thinking about comforting him, but he stepped back immediately, which made her stop and look at him with excruciating sadness. He hated seeing her like that, especially that he was partially responsible for such a state of things. However, he wasn't able to force himself to do something about it. He was too infuriated by their deed and humiliated by the truth in his father's words that he had so foolishly ignored, to focus on anything other than his anger and pain.

He suddenly looked up from the floor, his eyes resembling two lakes frozen to the core. Narcissa realized her two men had never been more alike than in that moment.

"I understand your reasons," Draco started coldly, knowing there was no way to win a battle with his father, but he was more than determined to at least leave the house with his head up. He didn't care what they'll think or say anymore. Truth be told, the big part of him wanted to turn around this very moment and walk away to never be forced to look at them again. "I understand that all these years ago you were in fact trying to protect me."

Lucius' lips twisted into a smug smirk of victory. Draco suddenly felt sharp pain in his palms; he didn't realize he had been digging his nails into them for Merlin knew how long up until now.

"But I grew up. You had such a long time to tell me - me, not the world - any yet you chose not to, deceiving me, always omitting the truth. It wasn't for my protection, but for the protection of your own skin. You know what I would feel if you told me? I would feel grateful, proud that you decided to trust me, powerful with this new knowledge. The world wouldn't know, _I_ would. Your son. The person you're supposed to trust. But you didn't."

He saw a quick flash of remorse showing in Lucius' eyes that quickly disappeared, leaving something akin to resignation.

"It was never about that kind of trust," the older Malfoy said quietly. "We..." one glance at Narcissa made him reconsider and change the pronoun, " _I_ didn't trust you would keep it from destroying you."

"I'm not that weak foolish lad I was, father. I haven't been him for a really long time, but apparently you didn't notice."

The rage changed into a different kind of pain. For a long time Draco's biggest desire had been to make his father proud. Even now, as a grown-up man with a family of his own, with personal experiences that left him scarred for life, he still involuntarily and silently begged for approval. Yes, he had made a lot of things against his parents' wishes - like marrying someone they hadn't approved of - but that was not the point. He had thought he had lived up to at least some of Lucius' expectations. How painful was the realization he had been so deeply wrong...

Oh, he definitely did care what they'll think or say. Those were only some foolish wishes, a desperate attempt to convince himself things had changed.

Narcissa looked at her husband wide-eyedly, waiting for him to deny, to say anything that would make the situation at least slightly better. But Lucius remained silent, watching Draco with impenetrable expression. She shuddered internally at the thought of a rift they were currently creating between them, the rift that will be very difficult if not practically impossible to erase. Of course she could deny for Lucius, tell Draco what she was thinking about him, but she knew it wouldn't matter. Her son loved her with all his heart, but it wasn't her he had always tried to satisfy. It had never been her, because for her his sheer existence was enough to be pleased.

"Well..." Draco started, clearing his throat, but he wasn't meant to finish as Lucius cut him off mid-sentence.

"You don't understand at all, as usual." His voice was even colder now than before. "It was never about you being weak or strong, it was about what you would do with that knowledge out of the goodness of your heart." He took the word "goodness" in quotes, mockery present in his voice, filling those few letters thoroughly.

Draco knew what his father meant - the "goodness" of the middle Malfoy would make him set off for a wild search of the girl and try to save her, which would probably end tragically for a lot of people, him especially. Or at least that was what Draco thought Lucius had meant. But he was too exhausted by that hurtful and disappointing discussion to ask for clarification. He had enough. All of the negative emotions that had been raging through him left deep marks he was just now starting to feel. Only one desire remained - to run away from there and come back to the only person he might have not disappointed yet, at least not so severely. He had never been a father he wished Scorpius to have, but he had been trying, always relentlessly trying not to be Lucius. Remembering that, he suddenly felt a wave of new energy. He was a Malfoy, and even though it might not mean much nowadays, it should have always been associated with power and unyieldingness. But he was also himself, the first Malfoy to truly go his own way.

"You know," he chuckled humorlessly, his gaze on the ground, "coming here I was ready to forgive you. I was ready to forget all the lies and illusions, even though these lies put my son in danger's way. I wanted to forgive you, because I love you." He looked sternly first at Narcissa, who had only pain written in her blue irises, and then at Lucius, who remained stone-cold and disinterested. "But now I've had enough. I won't beg you to convince me I should forgive you; if you want me to ever talk to you again, _you_ will come to _me_ to beg for my forgiveness, which you won't get, because forgiveness is something one must earn." He stressed "you" and "me", his voice balanced and calm.

Lucius puffed indignantly, which earned him a strike on the arm from Narcissa, who didn't take her eyes off Draco.

"I... I just hope you'll finally pay the price for at least some of your mistakes, because that is something you deserve," Draco ended, his voice still steady, although his eyes were shooting lightnings.

"What price is there to pay?" Lucius asked before Narcissa could stop him. Obviously he didn't believe a word Draco had said, unlike his wife, who seemed devastated by their son's speech. "You think your new friends will lock us in Azkaban for hiding the truth and for the sins that are now long gone? What good would it bring to anyone?"

Draco smirked. Those sins could never be gone; his own burned in his veins every single day and he hadn't committed even one tenth as much wrongdoings as his father had.

"My new friends," he said slowly, focusing only on that part of Lucius' reaction. His so-called new friends were the sole reason his heart was still even beating, because if it hadn't been for them, Scorpius would be stuck in time for the rest of his life, without any way to come back. That wasn't something Draco's heart would survive, probably not ever and definitely not after...

He felt something squeezing his throat at the thought. It was still so hard every single time _her_ name came to his mind. It was still so unbelievable. Like so many things that had happened lately, he noticed absentmindedly.

 _...not after Astoria_ , he finished sadly, now able to continue. "That's all that matters to you right now?"

This time it was Lucius who smirked.

"You seem very intent on convincing yourself your every choice is wrong in my eyes. Like a martyr you most definitely are not."

Narcissa's ears blocked the sounds, her heart unable to listen to it anymore. She had never been a compliant bystander, but now she just stood idly by, watching her two men eyeing each other hostilely. She wasn't sure what was exactly happening and why, as she didn't recognize their behavior whatsoever. Sure, they had often been that way towards other people, but not to each other, and definitely not since the second war. Their relationship had been strained and harsh, although never to such an extent. She felt like that was something for them to figure out on their own, so she shouldn't have interfered; but mostly, even though she was reluctant to admit it to herself, there was a guilt overwhelming her. A guilt that made her agree with practically everything Draco had said. A guilt that locked her lips and shot her back in time, forcing her to rethink the decision she had made so many years ago, like it could change anything, like it could change the situation they found themselves in.

It couldn't. Nothing could change it. It was already far too late to stop the damage Lucius and Draco were inflicting upon each other for the last half an hour or so.

Suddenly her eyes caught a glimpse of the youngest member of their family, who was standing in the corridor for Merlin knows how long. She smiled at him sadly and shook her head. He didn't react in any way, staring at his relatives with bewildered and frightened expression. She knew he shouldn't have seen it; that wasn't an image of their family she would have ever wanted Scorpius to have. It wasn't true, for once. It wasn't them. Not now, not today, not here.

"Well, I hope you're satisfied with how that went, because you're not gonna see me ever again." Draco's voice reached their ears. "Farewell, father. Mother." Draco nodded towards Narcissa and turned around towards the door. Whatever reaction the sight of his son evoked in him, he hid it perfectly.

"Don't make a fool of yourself," Lucius scoffed at Draco's back. The middle Malfoy didn't react, but continued his slow walk, in his mind already out of the room. He was contemplating how everything always had been a lie. False impressions, misleading believes, hidden half-truths. He had lived through all his childhood utterly convinced his parents considered Voldemort a Savior, like everyone else on their side of the wizarding world, only to find out they definitely didn't hold him in high regard. He had believed the idea of purity had been the most important thing they had ever had, only to become positively surprised that the most important thing for all the living Malfoys was, in fact, family and love. He had thought that after the second war they had finally entered the path of honesty and serenity. And now he learned it wasn't true as well.

What was true, he didn't now anymore.

"Draco Malfoy, I command you to come back here this instant!"

Draco smiled at his son and cocked his head towards the exit door of the property, silently asking Scorpius to follow him. Scorpius nodded, but stayed in the same place, his eyes still wide-open from shock and disbelief.

"Draco!"

Draco had never suspected that turning his back on his father both literally and metaphorically would be so gratifying; it was the first thing since Astoria's death that gave him so much joy, except of course for getting Scorpius back. He felt free, maybe for the first time in his life.

He was free.

Scorpius stared at his grandparents for a while, thinking, then smiled sadly and quickly followed in his father's footsteps. He had been trying to create bridges between him and the ever-so-prejudiced Rose Granger-Weasley, but as he now saw it, there were more important rifts he had to mend first. Hitting closer to home, creating deeper wounds. But he wouldn't be himself if he didn't try.

 _Scorpius Malfoy, the Mender of What's Broken._

He liked that. There was always hope to fix things, wasn't there?


	2. I'll Stand By You

**A/N:** **Thank you for everyone who read and reviewed the first part, you keep the author going! :)**

 **Here comes the second part, set a few years earlier. We don't know much about Astoria or what kind of person she was; but we don't need it for the sake of this one-shot, because it's seen through Draco's eyes and the way he saw her, what she was to him is the only thing that counts. Title comes from the song by The Pretenders; written with "Man on Fire" by Lisa Gerrard (which I highly recommend to listen to while reading).**

 **In 2019, Draco has to say goodbye.**

* * *

When you're young and happy, you try not to think about bad things that await. You know they do and that they'll come for you eventually, but you toss them into the blackest and deepest corners of your mind. You never think about being a widower one day, do you?

Even when you know you'll be one soon.

And when the moment finally comes, you aren't ready.

He isn't ready to say goodbye.

.

It hasn't been violent. She's just been slowly withering away, weaker and weaker with every single day, until she was too weak to walk, too weak to stay awake throughout the day. And soon, too soon, she'll be too weak to breathe.

Although Draco suspects every moment would be "too soon". He'll never be ready to let her go. But Death doesn't ask for permission; it sneaks stealthily to strike in the most unexpected moment, never checking if it's the right one or not. It just comes.

And it just has.

It began with silent knocking on the door, a reminder that the fragile state of being partially in this world and partially already in the other, has come to an end. There came a time of transition, of dissecting Life from Death, putting one before the other without any choice as to which. It isn't a decision, it's a fact already done. But he still refuses.

.

Scorpius isn't here; he's coming back from the venture to the oldest Malfoys. It's a good thing the boy would be relieved of watching his beloved mother die - the memory won't hunt him for the days to come. He'll remember her the way she always was - smiling, peaceful, kind, ready to deal with the cards she has been given, never complaining, agreeing with her fate while not resigning to it. His, and not only his, role model.

But Draco has to be here; he would never forgive himself if he wasn't with her during her last dying moments. She's his and he's hers; and so, her death will be his as well.

.

She already looks like a corpse, lying flat on the bed paler than ghosts usually are. Eyes closed, lips partially opened, chest barely moving, she seems to cling to the remains of life that are still within her reach. But with every passing moment she fails more and more, while he can only be a silent observer of her demise, unable to help, unable to stop hers and his suffering. It may be peaceful, but what he's feeling is very far from peace.

He's hiding her hand in his, like it would prevent Death from taking her away from him. He's holding her tightly yet gently as not to hurt her, keeping her with him; no one can take that away, no one can take her away from him. Not now, not ever.

He feels her weak pulse under his fingers; it's momentarily erratic just to disappear few moments later and come back after a short pause. Every pause makes his heart stop as well, every time he thinks it's it. The end. But every time it comes back and his heart leaps with joy; the moment of doom has been postponed, even if for just a few seconds. It's not here yet.

He squeezes her hand lightly and lifts it to his lips, closing his eyes in the process. He wants to stay like this forever; he wants nothing to change, for this moment not to pass. His head falls on their conjoined hands as he surrenders to the feelings that overwhelm him.

"Draco..." Her quiet, shaky voice makes him open his eyes, but not lift his head. He can't do that, as then she would see his face, she would notice the tears. She would know how much damage her death is causing. Although, she probably already knows it. "Don't let the world divide you. Be there for him and he'll be there for you. You only have each other."

She has trouble speaking, but there are apparently things she needs to say; she has to make sure her men will be fine. Although they'll never be, because how can they?

"We have you," he whispers, still not looking at her.

He can practically hear her smile.

"Of course you have. And you'll always have me. But now... Now is the time to say goodbye." The tears burn his skin as they intensify. He wipes them off instantly before they become too much to handle. "But... I... I can't go unless you let me."

"Do you..." His own voice is much shakier than hers; it's trembling with tears that have both already come and are just preparing to do so. Suddenly, he feels her soft touch on his chin - even though it isn't more than a brush of a feather, it makes him look at her. Her face is lit up with the kindest of smiles, although her eyes bear the deepest sadness, more for the ones she's forced to leave behind than for her own fate. "Do you want to go?"

Her slim fingers seem no more than bones covered with a thinnest layer of skin, but they still manage to wipe the tears from his cheek. The gesture makes him shudder and lean into the touch, taking from it as much as he can, feeling deep down it's probably the last. They both know all too well she doesn't belong to this world anymore.

"There isn't a thing in the world I'd like more than to stay," she whispers, her fingers still slightly touching his cheek. This sensation and her words destroy all of his remaining walls and restraints, destroy him; the tears are now coming violently in hot streams and he doesn't do anything to stop them, because there isn't a thing in the world he'd like more than to make her stay. "But you know I can't."

"I'm not ready." He shakes his head, refusing the possibility of letting her go. He can't, not now, not ever.

"You have to be. Otherwise it'll be all darkness and gloom, and I cannot leave you like that."

Typical Astoria - she is the one dying, but all she can think about is his mental state that would prevail after her demise. So caring, so loving, so...

He isn't able to look at her yet again, giving up to his despair. The tears are still coming, but he fights against them this time so they wouldn't transform into an uncontrollable sob. He doesn't want such an image to be the last one she would ever see.

"Don't cry. You're a Malfoy, remember? You don't cry."

Even in such a state, she's still able to jokingly make fun of him; he did cry, a lot, on plenty of occasions. It's a part of him she loves the most - that this strong yet deeply vulnerable man isn't afraid of his tears.

He looks at her, smiling through the tears. She smiles back and this time the smile reaches her eyes. _Let me go_ , they say. _Let me go and remember I'll always love you_.

For a moment he just gazes into her irises, finding in them the strength he needs to say what should be said. He finds in them the strength to let her go.

"Astoria Greengrass," he starts, trying to calm his voice. He straightens in his chair, never letting go of her hand, never letting his eyes wander off from hers. "Beloved sister, mother and wife, the best person anyone in this world or any other has ever known, the owner of the biggest of hearts and the truest and only love of my life..." he stumbles, catching his breath. It seems not enough to sustain him with proper amount of oxygen, as it comes shallow and shaky, but he doesn't care. "...I'm letting you go."

The edges of her mouth go slightly upwards, almost unnoticeably.

"Do you hear me? You are free," he adds; his vision blurs for a moment, but he blinks quickly and forcefully to take the tears away. He needs to see her alive as long as she is in such a state. Which won't be long now.

It's just one fleeting moment - in one second she's smiling peacefully, her lips forming into a soundless "thank you"; in the other the hand in his grasp goes weak and he knows it's the end.

And when she closes her eyes for the last time, he also knows he'll never be whole again, because a part of him, an immensely important part that made him who he is now, has just died with her.

He wants to bid her farewell, he wants to do something constructive, but the only thing he can do is to squeeze her hand the tightest he is able to and sob violently, because now he can do it, because now any restrains make no sense. For a moment he cannot breathe, feeling the iron grasp on his chest that takes away its ability to widen. For a moment he just suffocates.

And then it lets go and he can breathe again. Letting go. He let her go, didn't he?

He's known grief for a long time, but he's never realized it can hurt like this, breaking him into pieces, burning from the inside, taking away all ability to think, all will to survive, to fight. It isn't only the mental pain, but also physical, so true and real it's like he's just received the Cruciatus Curse. For a moment he considers casting it on himself to aggravate this part of pain, so the other one, at least for a while, would be less intolerable, less authentic, less lethal.

He doesn't want anything else right now but to lie beside her and die in the embraces of her dead body, but he knows he can't; he has to be strong. He has to, for Scorpius. He has a reason to live on, for his son. For their son.

She was right not to leave him alone. Because otherwise... Otherwise he wouldn't be alone for long, joining her soon after.

But he has a reason. And that's what will keep him going now and for the days to come. Scorpius.

Scorpius.

The only part of her that is still alive.

Perhaps also the only part of him that is still alive.

Repeating it all over again, he succumbs into the state of nothingness, never letting go of her hand. Numb from pain and despair, hollowed, unoxygenated, he'll await someone or something to take her away from him, to repeat the act Death executed, but this time more physically. Maybe then he'll remember how to breathe again.

Maybe then he'll let her go.

.

One day you have a heart. You cherish it, take care of it, even prepare it for a breakage, because it seems all too certain that it will break sooner rather than later.

But one day you no longer have a heart. And nothing can prepare you for that.


	3. No Pillow For Your Head

**A/N:** And the last part, with a dedication for a wonderful reader - Emm178. I'm sorry it took me so long! The title comes from the song "Battlefield" by Svrcina. Enjoy!

PS I also wrote a little one-shot that could somewhat fall in place with the Trilogy, but might also destroy its integrity; and so I might publish it one day as a separate piece.

Before and after the Battle of Hogwarts, there is a child they have to take care of.

* * *

The kid is beautiful - silver curls surround its head, dark eyes have an intelligent, almost haunting expression. They pierce one's soul, hypnotizing and making everyone unable to look away. So mostly no one is watching, just to avoid that feeling.

Voldemort's spawn.

He looks at it with disgust. It shouldn't be here, it shouldn't even exist; but he has to harbor it in his own house, treating it like the most precious treasure there ever was.

Because they're in a complete disgrace and there's practically no one else around who managed to successfully raise a child, they are the guardians of this little abomination. Maybe family ties played some part as well, but even if they did, they were the last on the list. Practical issues seemed to be the most important.

He suspects that, were they not here, it would die from starvation in a matter of days, considering both of its parents don't care about its well-being. Possibly no one cares, seeing even they only tend to its physical needs and nothing more.

He isn't fond of children, he has never been. Of course the situation looked completely different with Draco, but Draco is his, the blood of his blood. The memories of Draco's youngest age are the ones he cherishes the most. But he doesn't consider _Delphini_ or whatever its name is a family. It's a mistake and nothing more. It shouldn't even be alive.

Narcissa is conflicted and he can see it. She doesn't think highly of the child as well, but she feels some kind of blood connection and it terrifies her. She feels obligated. Luckily, he doesn't. He's free to hate the thing with all his being. Maybe it's some kind of therapy - he doesn't dare to hate the ones that are responsible for their current fate, he mostly doesn't even dare to think about it, as it would come with high probability of ending lethally, so he transfers all of his hostility and confined anger into this little creature who can't reciprocate or realize anything. It's a process of healing, or at least that's what he keeps telling himself during rare waves of guilt.

But such moments of doubt don't come often, as mostly the kid gives him every reason to detest it. The other Death Eaters, seeing him in a babysitter role, find yet another basis for mocking him, the one who once stood above all of them. The kid is relentless and cannot be soothed until they both are too tired to stand and when it's finally asleep, it takes a softest of sounds to break its nap. Its cries wake him up in the middle of the night, releasing him from the nightmares, but in the same time throwing him inside them with all intensity; for a while he's just lying breathlessly, staring through the darkness, trying to remember he's no longer in Azkaban. It's home, whatever it looks like right now or whoever is inside it. It's home, but he can't realize it or even catch his breath until he feels Narcissa next to him. Her presence saves him every single time, rescuing him from the darkness and putting him back to life.

The constant lack of sleep plus irritation and humiliations don't create a particularly good mix to find footing again after coming back from hell. Sometimes he doubts he has ever left it.

He's been degraded to a silent observer of things, without a voice. Bellatrix is the one who's in charge currently, directly under the Dark Lord. Ideal role models for their child. It still sounds surreal, even though he can see the fruit of that liaison every single minute of every single day. He isn't sure whether the rest of the crowd knows the real identity of the kid, but he suspects they were fed some convenient lie. It would be too dangerous to expose too many people to the truth.

And the truth is alive and well. Narcissa often has a headache, so he's left to take care of it on his own. It cries as every other child; it demands food, changing, protection, a parent's embrace, as every other child. But when he looks in its eyes all he can see is a spore of enormous power, hiding behind the veil of darkness. He isn't willing to admit it even to himself, but it scares him. Nothing good ever comes from powerful children; besides, he's far beyond caring about anything but the survival of his family, consisting strictly of three people and not a single person more or less. The kid only means trouble on an already patchy and winding road to getting out of it alive; another problem during the fight for their lives.

He can give it food and protection - at least for now; he can change its diapers - luckily magic enables him to do that without getting his hands dirty, in both literal and metaphorical ways; but he won't give it any fondness of embrace. Not now, not ever.

When he picks it up, it doesn't gurgle or make any other sound infants usually do, but gives him a look of wisdom and threat that chills him to the bone. It doesn't surprise him the kid isn't normal, but how far beyond normal it can be put is bewildering. "Extraordinary" would be a compliment, so he doesn't use it to describe the thing. But in a way, it is extraordinary.

It squeezes his hand and smiles, which suddenly increases his heart rate. He doesn't know why exactly - is it a trace of fatherhood feelings combined with memories and longing for his own son? Is it fear? Guilt? Or maybe, in a way, compassion for the child who will never know anything positive in its entire life?

Because no matter how this war will end, the kid is doomed. Cursed, even.

* * *

The nightmare is over, but she's still here, orphaned and alone.

Smiling and gurgling, she looks at Narcissa joyfully. The woman tries to smile back, but it's difficult; she immediately feels guilt and sadness overwhelming her. Delphi's parents lost the war and Narcissa lost her sister. Of course there is grief, there is pain coming from the loss. But she would be lying if she said she isn't relieved Voldemort didn't win. The world might not look their way right now and it may as well never look like it again; however, that's not what matters. What matters is that they are alive and free. They have rebelled and thanks to that Lucius will escape Azkaban. They all can be together in their home again, unharried by anything, living their lives in a kind of a powerful seclusion, like they used to before.

Although she knows nothing will ever be like it used to.

But now it's not the time to think about the future for the three of them, because there is some other future she has to write first. As the girl reaches out her arms towards Narcissa, the harsh reality of the child's fate breaks her heart. Delphi is left with nothing else but the aunt that isn't able to love her and the legacy no one should be forced to bear. If it happened twenty years ago, Narcissa would probably think it's unfair that the child with such an ancestry is walking on the thinnest ice, her future unsure; she would look at the situation from the perspective of Delphi's possible power and pure blood. But now she looks at her from the perspective of a mother; she sees Draco in her mind and shudders at the thoughts her imagination creates. Now she looks at her from the perspective of a woman who no longer cares about ideologies. Delphi's just a little child, demanding and expecting love and care she deserves. But there is no one to give it to her and that fact truly saddens Narcissa.

Right now Delphi is demanding Narcissa to lift her up and hug her, but the woman is unable to do that. Looking at the girl, Narcissa sees her biological father, although they are nothing alike. She can't touch her anymore. She feels disgust, but it doesn't stop her from drowning in guilt and self-hatred in the same time.

She feels the slightest touch on her arm. Squeezing her husband's hand, Narcissa transfers all of her conflicting emotions into him; she knows he understands, she knows he feels more or less the same.

"What are we going to do with her?" she whispers, her voice hoarse.

"What do you want to do with her?" he asks quietly. She turns her head slightly to look at him; his gaze tells her everything she wanted to know. He'll follow her every wish, even raise the child if that would be her decision, despite his strong negativity towards Delphi. Or he'll give her away and pretend the girl never existed. The choice belongs to Narcissa and she knows it.

She looks at the girl again and smiles sadly as Delphi starts sucking her thumb in a completely innocent way.

"We have few options," Narcissa starts slowly, trying to steady her voice. "And every single one is possible - no one knows the truth and no one will dare to ever question anything that happened during last few months. So... we can have her as our own." She counted the possibilities on her fingers. We can raise her as Bellatrix and Rodolphus' daughter. We can give her to some respected, but not well-known orphanage anonymously. We can take her to someone we know. And we can..."

She stutters, terrified by the thought that came to her mind unannounced and uninvited. It takes her breath away for a moment, while the end of this sentence keeps replaying in her head. What kind of monster does it make her?

 _And we can end her misery._

"No, we can't." Lucius' quiet, calm voice brings her back to the reality. His hand comes to rest on her shoulder as he brings her closer and hugs her from behind. That's exactly what she needs, but it's not enough. It can't be.

For a moment they look at the girl in silence as she stares at them wide-eyedly. Her intelligent gaze pierces Narcissa's soul; does she know they are plotting her future demise? Somehow, Narcissa fears she does.

"I opt for the fourth option," Lucius finally says. Narcissa looks at him questioningly; she's in such a deep state of confusion and terror she doesn't even remember what the fourth option was. "Giving her to someone we know," he explains, seeing her puzzled expression.

She looks at Delphi again. Her silver curls with an addition of big dark eyes make her face seem unworldly, like a seemingly innocent creature of doom. There is a power radiating from her that electrifies the air around.

"There is also another option," Narcissa whispers, not letting her gaze wander from the girl even for a second. She's looking at Delphi, but doesn't see her at all; she's somewhere else entirely. "We can tell the truth and let the world decide."

Lucius sighs. He's silent for a moment, like he's carefully weighing his words.

"Do you remember what our most important duty is? Do you remember what we swore to do, no matter the circumstances and consequences?" he finally asks.

"To protect Draco." Narcissa's voice is even quieter now, barely a rustle of air particles fleeing from her mouth.

"If we let the world decide what to do with her..." he suspends his voice for a moment, letting the truth of his words sunk deeply into her heart, "...the same world will always regard our son as a relative of Voldemort's spawn. Can you imagine what it would do to him?"

She knows that, she understands; even though, her heart hurts. Draco has always been fragile, despite his countless attempts to prove the whole world otherwise. It would break him, shatter to million pieces and throw into a bottomless pit of darkness, one he would never be able to crawl back from.

Delphi cocks her head, her stare telling Narcissa she understands.

Or that's what Narcissa tries to believe.

Some last dying thoughts about the decision she's about to make rush through her mind at a pace of light. Delphi is her sister's child, she's her niece, a family.

But... but she's also Voldemort's child. She's a danger, an unknown threat. And these are the qualities that rise beyond anything else.

Narcissa doesn't know why she's still stalling; she had her answer the moment words "protect Draco" came out of her mouth.

"We should find her a home," she finally says, although her voice stutters. It isn't easy and it probably won't get any easier soon.

Seeing her haunted expression reflecting in a windowpane Lucius turns her around so she's now facing him, her back turned to the child.

"She's not our responsibility," he whispers, kissing her on the forehead and closing her in his embrace. Narcissa leans into his touch, letting herself feel safe, even if just for a moment.

"She is," she answers so quietly he isn't sure he heard her correctly. "She has no one else but us."

He remains silent, then says as quietly as she did: "She doesn't have us."

Feeling agonizing grief Narcissa closes her eyes, not able to neglect his words that are everything but a lie.

They are not Delphi's. But they are safe and so is she.

That's all that matters.

* * *

There isn't a lot of potential candidates for Delphi's new family for plenty of reasons. For one, most of their acquaintances already managed to end up either dead or in Azkaban. For the other, they are considered traitors among those who made it out alive and free, therefore not many people would want to have anything to do with them.

Finally, they decide on the Rowles, or rather what's left of them. Opportunistic, always ready to do anything for gold, the money being the quality they put higher than anything else.

Narcissa has second thoughts and doubts, but she doesn't speak of them aloud. She knows better than to delve into it. The decision was made and it is the only proper way. Moreover, they have to take Delphi to her new home as soon as possible, so Draco wouldn't have to find out about her existence. They managed to keep him in the dark for so long it would be terrible to waste this advantage now. It's much safer for him not to know, for both his future and mental state.

They Apparate some distance from the Rowles' house; Delphi's silent in her so-called pram, her gaze full of pain and sorrow. Narcissa can't look at her. The girl surely know they are betraying her and she'll never forgive them for that. Neither will Narcissa herself.

"If we pay them enough, they should provide for her well-being," Lucius says as they make their way towards the building. He doesn't seem to have a problem with giving the girl away, but he avoids Delphi's stare as well. The feeling of guilt is contagious or so it seems.

"Well-being, yes, but what about... love? Family?"

Lucius looks at his wife, wondering exactly how much damage their deed will inflict upon her. He fears the extent will be ferocious.

"I'm afraid that's not written into her fate," he answers. Now that the decision was made, apart from the slight guilt he feels only relief. The problem is no longer on their shoulders; he doesn't really care what will happen to the girl, as long as it keeps the three of them safe.

And it will.

.

It's more like a transaction than anything else - not many words are said or even are necessary; the Rowles know the basics. They get the money - a one-time deal with a great amount of money involved - and they raise the girl without asking questions about her identity, without revealing to the world where they got her from, without ever turning to the Malfoys for help or more money.

A little, breathing, beautiful creature for gold. Simple as that.

Narcissa looks at Delphi for one last time. She sees severe disappointment in the girl's eyes and experiences an unpleasant feeling of immediate threat. _I'll get my revenge_ , the child seems to speak in her mind. For a moment she can't take her eyes off Delphi; for a moment she's morbidly driven to her, almost hypnotized. Only when she hears Lucius clearing his throat does she blink and manage to break away, feeling like she's just woken up from a deep sleep.

 _Goodbye, Delphi,_ she thinks, hoping the girl will conquer the fate that was probably written for Voldemort's child and live a decent life. Hoping she won't be to blame if it all goes sideways.

She just needs her family to be safe. That's all she wants.

Squeezing her husband's hand she walks away, not looking back at the child she's leaving behind.

 _Goodbye, my sweet child. May the world treat you gently._


End file.
